after close on two hours' hard riding the fugitives drew rein. they had not spoken except once to confer on direction, marion having simply stated that they were returning to garth. roger had pointed out the cross-country track where he thought it most likely they would escape detection.

they were on the edge of a spur of the moor, and from its advantage they wheeled to scan the countryside. there was no sign of life save the cattle and ponies grazing in the rough grass.

soon marion became aware that roger had turned his gaze on herself. fingering her crop, she sat tongue-tied and helpless. she had dreamed of this moment, when she and roger would find themselves riding homeward, the shadow of the gaol left behind, and a long chapter in their lives to recall, each for the other. the moment having come, she could do nothing but stare at her horse's head and run her crop in and out of his mane.

roger's hand fell abruptly on hers. marion raised her eyes and dropped them again. the hand tightened.

'i cannot say it,' said roger huskily. 'i cannot.'

marion glanced at the pale, worn face.

'don't try,' she faltered, her composure breaking before the look in his eyes. 'i know just what you would say.'

'no one can,' said roger in a low voice, 'who has not been at the very edge of the grave.'

marion's hand gently touched roger's. tears shone on her lashes.

'i do believe,' she said tremulously, acting on a swift inspiration, 'i do believe i am hungry.'

roger dropped his hand and turned his head away, and leaning over, marion tried to unbuckle one of his saddlebags. soon her companion became aware of her action. hastily he dismounted. from the bag he drew out a flask of wine and a wallet of food.

'venison pasty!' said he, staring at the piece marion offered him. he snatched at it with an eagerness that went to her heart. half-way to his lips he withdrew it. 'i am a brute!' he said. 'forgive me. where is yours?'

'here. we have one each. now i shall give you just five minutes, sir.'

marion smiled down at the upturned face, but her hint brought roger back to the present. he mounted again, and the two moved forward at a gentle pace, eating and talking as they rode. in a few words marion explained her plans on his behalf.

'so you are going to banish me to the high seas,' said roger at the end.

marion was silent a minute. then, rousing herself: ''tis strange by what crooked means a man's fate overtakes him. do you remember that day on the headland when the fair return set sail? my father always said that being a sailor bred and born you would in the end go to sea.'

the slight meal finished, they set their horses at a trot over the springing turf.

'what about my mother?' said roger. 'can i not see her before i sail, think you?'

'if we get down to garth untroubled, perhaps yes. but we may have a close run for it.'

'i think we have not been seen yet,' said roger.

'except for the old woman.'

roger was silent a while. about five miles out of the city they had come face to face with a small apple-cheeked dame setting out from her cottage with her basket of butter. the little low building, tucked in a fold of the moor, had been unnoticed by them, and they had reduced their speed, hoping that their headlong flight had not already been noted by some one within the cottage walls.

marion had bidden the dame good morning and talked of the weather. the wind was steadily gathering, and every few minutes came fleeting squalls of rain. the old woman was not in a good temper. a wet market day in exeter meant poor money for her butter. she feared a heavy storm was brewing. then she added, not without several motherly glances for the pale-faced groom who rode just behind the lady: 'if so be you'm for mortonhampstead, mistress, 'twere best to take to the left down along and find the waggon track. folk do sure lose themselves easily on they moors, and there be terr'ble danger of bogs up over. only yesterday a gentleman got off the track. mighty near to sinking in tinker's cup a'd been, with bog muck up to the horse's knees. 'twas as fine a gentleman as ever a clapped eyes on. and a crown her gave me, as cool as day, for setting of un right.'

'here's another to keep it company,' smiled marion. 'good day.'

in case she should be watching, the two had made a show of returning to the track she had pointed out, then branched to the north again, leaving mortonhampstead, its chimneys beaten by driving smoke, away to the left.

'i don't think she noticed anything,' said roger. 'and as you say, they'll be searching the river and the seaward country.'

after a time roger reined in and looked about. they were out on the open moor. as he scanned the hills and gullies, the fair green bog stretches, he was seized by a conviction that they were not making the speed they should. in avoiding the dangers of the moor, they had been obliged to take a winding course. a landmark which should have been left miles behind lay at his shoulder.

'marion,' he said suddenly, 'we must take to the waggon track if we wish to reach garth to-day. we have lost half an hour wandering among these hummocks. better make a rush for it that way than get hopelessly bogged or lost.'

marion looked relieved. ''twill be vastly easier to ride straight on so. and this heavy land is bound to weary the horses.'

by tacit consent the two spared no energy or time in speech. in a short time they gained the track. an hour later they passed through postbridge. there they decided to feed the horses. while the greys were being attended to, roger playing the part of groom among the stable men, marion was entertained by the innkeeper with the news of the countryside. among other details the host gave a description of a gentleman who had passed through on the previous evening, wishful to lie at princetown. listening, marion mused a little on the coincidence: twice that morning she had heard of the stranger westward bound.

at the crest of the steep rise out of postbridge roger turned in his saddle and cast a keen eye over the exeter road. with a swift gesture he pulled up his horse and remained motionless. instantly on the alert, marion stopped and followed the direction of his gaze. there was a lull in the storm; the sky had lightened over the east. a bar of watery sunlight fell across the hills that lay between mortonhampstead and postbridge. a couple of men on horseback showed against the skyline, minute figures only visible to those who had been trained from childhood to scan far distances. for a few seconds their horses showed clear. then a driving cloud swathed the sunlight, and the moor lay misty and uncertain again.

'did you see?' asked roger quietly. 'or did i imagine it?'

marion nodded, and settling herself in her saddle raised her crop. an unexpected, heavy blow startled the grey into a canter that soon became a gallop. the second horse came easily alongside, roger looking into his holsters as he rode. before they had gone half a mile the storm on the height of the moor redoubled its fury. rain lashed their faces. bending sideways to the blast they drove the greys mercilessly on, only slightly slacking their speed as princetown was reached and passed. there the track dropped into the valley. as the steaming animals picked their way down the slope, marion turned to roger.

'do you think we should try to change horses at tavistock?'

roger shook his head. ''tis but another thirty miles to garth. these brutes will soon know, if they don't know now, that they are nearing home. they can do it. 'twould mean at least ten minutes to change.'

marion took what ease she could from the slackened pace. her cloak and habit were soaked and hung limply about her. wearily she drooped in the saddle, thankful for the respite from the storm that beat the heights.

'i am not worth it, mawfy,' said roger suddenly.

marion smiled and straightened herself a little, but she made no reply. the bed of the valley passed, the greys trotted slowly up the slope.

'now for it!' said roger, as they gained comparatively level land. soon they were at a straining gallop again, their heads bent to the wind and rain. from time to time they looked back, but the valley had swallowed their pursuers.

after a few more miles marion became aware that her horse was a neck ahead of roger's; then a length. roger drove his heels into the grey's flanks. for a few yards they speeded alongside, then marion found herself ahead again. she slightly checked her pace and glanced at her companion. there was a queer look on roger's face. he slowed to a trot, leaning over to examine the action of his horse's feet.

'wait a minute, mawfy,' he said quietly. hastily dismounting, he examined his horse's shoes and knees. 'i can see nothing,' he said, springing up again. 'it is perhaps a tendon that does not show any swelling yet.'

the horse, urged into speed, ran unevenly, jerking on the off hind. with crop and heel roger pressed the brute to his utmost, but both the riders knew his miles were numbered. neither spoke. each had the same cold dread at heart.

'how far are we from liskeard?' asked marion faintly.

'close on ten miles, i should think. but there should be an inn half-way.'

mercilessly roger forced the pace of the limping grey. 'it grieves me,' he said abruptly, 'but 'tis his life against mine.'

from time to time marion looked fearfully over her shoulder. she knew that the wind, driving against them, would make it impossible for them to hear their pursuers till they were close at hand. another quarter of an hour, at this rate, should bring them within hail.

'take my horse and go on,' said marion suddenly. 'they would not dare shoot me, and if they took me back to gaol aunt keziah would get me out.'

roger's answer was a look from which marion turned her face away. they trotted on in silence. the road had turned into a winding waggon track that curled round the hillside. beeches topped the steep, unbroken hedges bordering the way. behind the hedges on the one hand the ground fell away steeply, on the other climbing to a ridge that was the last outpost of the moor.

roger stood in his stirrups. 'i think i can see some sort of a building, a couple of miles or so farther on where this lane ends.'

marion's heart sank. another couple of miles would mean at least a quarter of an hour at the pace they were going. she had a mental vision of the devouring stride of the pursuers' horses.

'and should they come before that,' added roger, 'you are to ride on out of reach of shot. remember now.'

marion flashed a withering glance at the speaker. 'i should of course do that, should i not? give me one of those pistols. ah. i hear voices. where are they?'

'there is nothing,' said roger. all his attention was given to the grey.

marion looked swiftly over her shoulder. through a gap in the trees she imagined that she caught a fleeting glimpse of red. making a swift calculation, she knew the soldiers were but three miles away. she cast a despairing look at roger's horse.

'give me one of those pistols, roger,' she pleaded. 'i shall not leave you.'

roger's answer was lost in a sudden cry from marion. she was riding slightly ahead, and could command a curve in the road. roger saw her speed on. stumblingly his horse followed.

a cart and horse were slowly making their way along the deeply rutted track. in the cart a boy sat, talking to a horseman who rode at the rear. the rider's face was turned to meet the sound of approaching hoofs.

'colonel sampson!' called marion, her voice breaking. 'colonel sampson! oh, thank god!'

the traveller wheeled round and stared in amazement from marion to the horseman at her heels.

'roger's grey has fallen lame,' cried marion, 'and the soldiers are almost on us.'

sampson glanced keenly at the boy, who, still more amazed than he was, made a courteous salute. in his face he saw the marks of prison durance. so this was the roger whose fate had made a criss-cross track through so many lives!

in an instant he saw his course plain. with a gesture bidding the two to follow, he set his horse at the narrow space left between the waggon and the hedge. when all three were ahead of the vehicle, sampson dismounted.

'take my horse, sir,' he said quietly, 'and ride on. my friend and i here will arrange a barricade. pull your mare over so as to block the lane, my lad. get the wheel into the ditch, so. a golden guinea for you if you keep yonder soldiers back for half an hour and hold your tongue about this exchange. we must head them off on another scent.'

the farm boy's eyes shone. with alacrity he obeyed the gentleman's orders.

'quick!' said marion. 'quick! i can hear their hoofs. i can almost see them!' she was dazed by the way life and death tossed their alternate greetings in her ears.

'but you, sir,' said roger, hesitating.

'i am an old soldier,' smiled sampson. 'i fought behind barricades before you were born. apart from that, there will be no need to fight. 'tis not myself they are after.'

with her fingers clenched on her crop, watching for the gleam of red through the trees, marion listened in an agony. the encounter had really not taken a minute's time, but to the girl the talk seemed idle and useless.

'quick, roger!' she cried again.

roger sprang on to the colonel's horse, a powerful roan, and sampson mounted the limping grey.

'now no one is any the wiser,' said sampson. 'and we have not even seen you, have we, my lad?'

the farm boy grinned. it was an encounter after his own green heart. 'a bean't be seeing nought, sir,' he said.

'and this wretched waggon is in a devil of a mess,' pursued sampson, stroking his moustache. 'yonder kind-hearted soldiers will surely help straighten it. good luck, sir. good-bye, marion, my dear. i will follow you to garth.'

roger rode on and marion held a trembling hand to sampson, her eyes shining through tears. as she trotted away sampson called: 'where is simone?'

marion stayed a second to answer. 'with my aunt keziah in exeter.' there was a reply from sampson she failed to understand. she broke into a canter and the roan and the grey were lost to sight. the lane ended abruptly in open land, and the track curved down along the flank of the hill. just as they bore round, the fugitives turned once more and caught the gleam of the uniforms half way down the lane.

'just in time!' said roger. 'we can see them because of their colour, but 'tis unlikely they can have seen us since we left the open land.'

side by side the two tore along the track, marion bringing to bear on her horse the extreme pressure which so far had been unnecessary. except when the nature of the track compelled, the two did not relax their speed until liskeard was reached. midday struck from the steeple as they rode through the town.

they broke into a gallop again, keeping a ceaseless watch for their pursuers. it was touch and go now. the land was so uneven that they could not see the track for more than half a mile at a time. at any moment the soldiers might gallop round the last hummock.

no words passed between the two, until, half an hour later, marion suddenly pulled up, her eyes dim. she looked about.

'i remember that hill,' she said tremulously, 'and through yonder gap on a fine day we should see the sea. oh roger! we are nearly there!'

roger looked over his shoulder. 'that mysterious colonel of yours is a clever man. you must tell me some day how he did it. there, at that clump of trees, we turn off for a smugglers' bridle path. i know it well. it runs down to the coast and spares the hill outside garth. if no one sees us for the next five minutes we are safe.'

marion followed roger, and leaving the grey to pick his own footing, fixed her eye on the backward track till a copse of wind-blown oaks hid it from their view. the path wound perilously down a stony gully, difficult to ride save for the moorland-bred. the wind was wearing away, a steady fine rain falling in place of the gusts and clamour of the morning. the realisation that the end of the perilous journey was in sight was slowly dawning on the girl's shaken senses. another couple of miles, and they would sight the cottages and banks of garth.

a few minutes later roger slowed his horse and waited for her. the track had fallen to the river bed, and there was room for the two to ride side by side. roger looked keenly at the girl's face.

'do you know,' said he, 'we have ridden all this time and i have not said a word of all that is in my mind. somehow 'twas enough to have you by my side and be riding to freedom. nothing else matters. and now in a few minutes we shall be at the village. mawfy, i cannot,—i—my mind is fevered. to say thank you to some one who has saved your life sounds like foolishness.'

'i told you this morning not to try,' said marion, lifting her grey eyes to his.

roger looked a long look at the pale face framed in the wet clinging hair.

'and i am going to sea,' he said suddenly. 'but i shall find some means of hearing of you. you and my mother. you will see my mother and tell her?'

'she shall know at once,' said marion gently.

'see,' cried roger, 'yonder on the hill is mother poole's cottage. do you remember?'

'ay,' said marion. 'i remember.' she bit her lip, and looked straight ahead. then, realising that village eyes would soon be on her, she straightened herself in the saddle.

'mawfy!' roger leaned over and took her hand.

she glanced at the warm dark eyes and looked hastily away again. a wave of colour wiped out the whiteness of cheek and throat. roger was pulling the damp glove from her hand. the fingers lay limply between his own.

'it is good-bye, just for a little time,' said roger, and caressingly he passed the trembling hand across his bent face.

struggling for composure, marion withdrew her fingers. the village lay before them. she dimly noted that a child had run out from a cottage, seen them, and run in again, shouting something. she dimly saw groups of sailors on the quay shading their eyes and staring up the valley. then next minute a girl ran bareheaded to meet them and stood with clasped hands. it was charity borlase.

'jack said as how you'd do it, mistress,' she said simply, her eyes shining. 'the boat's waiting down along, master roger, and tide's running grand. silas be going to row you out.'

roger dismounted and lifted marion from the saddle. 'take mistress marion home, charity, up the short path, and look after her well. she is very, very tired.'

he bared his head as his eyes sought marion's, and once more, careless of charity's presence, he lifted her fingers to his lips. the next minute he was striding down the beach. he leaped into a boat pointed out by a waiting youth and took an oar. as the boat shot out into the estuary hoarse cheers rose from the quay. the valley rocked with the sound. women and children clustered by the water, waving their hands and crying. charity's apron was at her eyes.

'god bless 'ee, master roger!' came voice after voice to marion's ears.

marion stood motionless on the beach. the last she saw was roger's hand waving as the boat pitched into the heavy seas about the harbour mouth.